


The Casebook of Sherrinford Marsden

by MrLsSidekick



Series: Sherrinford [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Detectives, F/F, F/M, Future, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Science Fiction, Sherlock Holmes Kinda, Steampunk Kinda, first work!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 16:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrLsSidekick/pseuds/MrLsSidekick
Summary: The written collection of one Dr. Oliver Bell's interactions and friendship with the consulting detective known as Sherrinford. These were taken from the actual accounts by Dr. Bell, including a personal preface and epilogue by the Doctor. In his words, "In recent times I have come to find Sherrinford becoming some sort of legendary figure, akin to Arthur of old, more myth and legend than truth. My writing of this aims to dispel any and all falsehoods associated with her."





	1. Preface - Written by Dr. Oliver Bell

      My name is Oliver Bell. I am a former surgeon, therapist, and, as of recently, confidant and close friend of the late Abigail "Sherrinford" Marsden (who henceforth will be referred to solely as Sherrinford, as that is how I knew and referred to her during our friendship). In recent times I have come to find Sherrinford becoming some sort of legendary figure, akin to Arthur of old, more myth and legend than truth. My writing of this aims to dispel any and all falsehoods associated with her. She was no "greater-than-life" figure who could do things beyond the normal capacities of humans. She was brilliant no doubt, and an eccentric in many ways, but human still — a human who wanted to bring justice wherever she could. In a sense, that made her into the legendary heroic figure that she became: a  champion against injustice, which unfortunately remains somewhat rampant in New London.

 

What follows is a series of stories detailing my experience with Sherrinford, from the details of how we met to her untimely demise. This is the ultimate truth, taken from my own writings of the experiences following their occurance. As this will, for the most part, be broken up by the cases we were working on at the time, this shall be called:

  
  


 

 

 

 

**THE CASEBOOK OF**

**"SHERRINFORD" MARSDEN**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins. This will be posted simultaneously with the first chapter, so I hope you enjoy both!
> 
> Critique is helpful, so help your fellow man.


	2. Chapter I - Sherrinford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detailing the circumstances of the first meeting between Sherrinford and Ollie Bell, and the traits he began to notice during their mutual lodging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I will be utilizing numbers in brackets (formatted like this "[x]") to denote a footnote of additional information, as when I originally wrote this on Google Docs I utilized that feature. The corresponding information will be found at the end of the chapter, above my authorial remarks in the end notes.
> 
> Tell me how you all feel about this format. If it doesn't really work, let me know and I'll alter it in future chapters!

To recount my relationship with Sherrinford, I perhaps should start with the situation that lead me to meeting, lodging, and eventually befriending her.

I had earned my medical license some years before the I met Sherrinford, and at one time practiced as a surgeon. Due to events that I shan’t disclose at this point in time (I will disclose such when the opportune time arises [1] ) I found myself serving in Her Majesty’s Royal Armed Forces on the planet of Cacus as a medic who refused to provide service to any physically injured. So, instead, to make myself useful still, I served to help the mentally injured, those that suffer from what’s come to be known as PTSD. I did do some good there, saved a quite few men from less than pleasant fates, at the very least temporarily. However, it was not to last, as I soon received an injury during a raid on the camp I was stationed at. It was a substantial enough injury (a bullet tearing through the bones and upper muscles in my right shoulder) that I was immediately sent back home from Cacus.

And this is where my road to meeting Sherrinford began to reach its end, as my sudden return to New London caused some new issues I hadn’t anticipated. I had made a deal with my now former landlord to rent out my room for the duration of my tour. However since my tour was ended prematurely the couple that now resided in my flat was not ready to leave just yet [2] . As such, I was looking for new lodgings, even if only temporarily, preferably long term though. No kith nor kin of mine still resided in New London, save for those in residence of the boneyard, so for the meanwhile I had taken lodgings in a hotel that lay in the lower quadrants of the city; it was all I could afford. The place itself wasn’t the worst, though many a cockroach did make bedfellows of me. What was convenient though was that it was within walking distance of a public house, “The Granger,” should I ever wish to wash away the sorrows of my cockroach flatmates.

Fortune found me one night washing away such sorrows in the form of an old colleague of mine, the first friendly face I had come across since my return. His name was Cary Costigan, a private who I had helped bear the burdens of war to during my time in Cacus, yet had still been sent home due to other reasons that escape me, perhaps some physical malady like myself. Nevertheless, eager to have once more the company of a friend of sorts, I invited him to sit for a spell and we can recount the years that had passed between our meetings, to which he accepted. He informed me of his return to New London, and how he had become a successful chartered accountant (a job which could never suit me well, but if he had made it work more power to him) with a lovely wife and a child on the way, while I informed him of my tale of woe, of wounded shoulders and cockroach bedfellows. It was at the point that I mentioned my search for lodgings that his eyes lit up.

“Well, Ollie, I might have a solution for you,” said he. “One of my clients, one Mrs. Andrews, has recently mentioned to me about one of her tenants moving out, leaving a vacancy in one of her rooms. I can talk to her and see if she’s interested in letting you room in the vacancy. Maybe I can even get a good deal for you.”

“Awful kind of you Cary,” said I, “but you don’t need to haggle on my behalf though.”

“No trouble at all, really. Think of it as kind repaying kind, seeing the good turn you did me back on Cacus. It might take a few days for me to be able to speak to her, however, my next appointment with her is on Monday. Shall I expect you here on that day to receive the news?”

“So as long as the stout flows well, I shall remain at its mouth.”  
“Excellent! I’ll see you Monday then.” And with that, he departed, leaving the barkeep a fiver and me to my drink and my roach friends.

The weekend passed by rather uneventfully, save for a new roommate for me: a rat, whom I “affectionately” called Rattigan and whom I found one day sitting on my bedside table as I woke up. I resolved from that day forth to never let my life get to a point where I might have to take lodgings at this hotel again.But, just the same, Monday came, and with it new news from Costigan, who met me once again in the evening.

“Okay, Ollie,” said he, “I talked to Mrs. Andrews and she said that she would be willing to let the room to you, since you are a friend of mine, though at no discount.”

“That’s fine. When can I move in?”

“Roundabout Friday. I meet with her on Wednesday, and she does want some time to make the room look presentable once she knows you’re coming, so that takes up Thursday.”

“Fair enough, though I must say, meeting her twice in the span of a few days? How much accounting does she really need help with?”

“Oh, she’s an old family friend, I just do the accounting as a service to her because of it. Our meeting on Wednesday is much more of the social variety.”

“I see. Alright then. Tell her I shall see her on Friday then, What’s the address?”

“112 Smith Street. Oh, she did want me to tell you about the other flatmate though. Supposedly she can be a bit hard to deal with at times, drove the last one out supposedly.”

“Look, Cary, I’ve in the past weekend roomed with several different species of bugs, one that I didn’t even realized existed in New London, and a giant rat, so if I can deal with these, I can deal with any human.”

“Fair enough, Ollie, fair enough,” Costigan said, laughing away. We spent the rest of the evening chatting away, with my speech taking on a particularly chipper tone, knowing I would only have to spend four more days in the company of the fauna of the world.

 

* * *

 

The four days passed rather quickly and quietly to my recollection, with no real interesting events occurring around me, though on the Friday I thought I saw a second rat in my room, perhaps a lady friend of Ratigan’s, I suppose. I bid my farewells and good riddances to the cockroaches and the rats, and made my way over to where my new home would be.

I arrived at the building to find that it was a rather nice building for its location in a not as nice part of town. The dirt and decay of the city around it seemed not to touch the building, only an ivy plant covering the entire right wall did. There was a staircase leading up to a door which read 112 on it (I correctly presumed that this was where I was intending to go) and to the left of the staircase was a small bakery that I could smell the aroma of fresh bread wafting out of. All in all, it wasn’t a bad little place for its location. I had hopes that I could stay here for a long time, providing I got along with this supposed problem flatmate.

I made my way up the stairs and knocked on the door. On the other side was a smaller older lady whose eyes showed that they had seen much over the years yet still retained a sparkle and a smile in them. Her blonde turning into gray hair, added to the weather worn face betrayed her age, yet when she spoke she still had the voice of youth hidden beneath.

“Mrs. Andrews?” I asked.

“Yes, who are you?”

“My name is Oliver Bell. I’m the one who Cary Costigan mentioned about wanting to lodge in your vacant room.”

A smile erupted on Mrs. Andrews’ face “Oh, of course Mr. Bell come right in.”

“Ollie is fine.”

“Alright then, you can go sit in the parlor and I’ll go fetch some tea.”

“Thank you Ma’am.”

I followed her inside to the flat. The interior very much matched the exterior. Everything was nice and clean and held a stately air to it. To my right was a sizeable room with several chairs and a bookcase lining the viewable wall. There also appeared to be a large window facing the street, judging by the light streaming through. I suspected that this room was the parlor. To my left there appeared to be a kitchen, which is where Mrs. Andrews headed towards, presumably to fetch the tea. To my front there was a long hallway leading to two rooms, and to the right of the hallway was a stairwell leading down to what appeared to be the basement.

I did as Mrs. Andrews suggested and took leave in the parlor, reclining on one of the chairs. I happened to glance over at the bookcase, perhaps out of curiosity. I found the shelves lined with both scientific texts as well as many of the literary classics, including a sizeable amount of detective fiction. I didn’t really have much more time to take in my new surroundings as I heard the movement of Mrs. Andrews down the hall.

“Sherrinford!” she shouted, down the stairs if I had to wager a guess, “Mr. Bell is here.”

Faintly I heard the response of “I’ll be up in a jiff,” to which Mrs. Andrews responded with a simple “Pah.” As she entered the room and sat down, she addressed me in regards to the situation, “Don’t mind her, dear, Sherrinford is the kind of person who likes to take things at her own pace, and doesn’t care one lick about what others think.”

“No worries Mrs. Andrews, I’m used to that kind of person. Plenty of people like th-”

But before I could even finish my statement we heard and felt a loud boom from downstairs, accompanied by a flash of light emanating from the stairwell, followed shortly by an vulgar exclamation. I, naturally became concerned, but Mrs. Andrews seemed unfazed.

“What was that!?” I questioned worriedly.

“Oh no worries, this is just another one of Sherrinford’s experiments, you’ll get used to them.”

“...Are explosions commonly involved in these experiments?”

“Not typically, though they sometimes do happen.”

At this point I could hear someone stumbling up the stairs and within a few moments a younger woman was standing at the top of the stairs. She had short fiery red hair, and wore on her face some dark glasses, not unlike sunglasses, though there were no need for them in New London. She seemed a bit disoriented, as if her balance had been impaired. Aside from her motor skills being slightly impaired, she seemed fully aware.

“Oh, Sherrinford,” Mrs. Andrews said, turning to the woman, who I now knew was the flatmate I’d heard much about, “this is Mr. Oliver Bell, the new lodger I told you about.”

I arose from my chair and started heading towards Sherrinford, arm extended to shake hands with her. “A pleasure to me-”

“Do you dislike the violin?”

The interruption threw me off my guard for a second, this was twice now I was interrupted by something related to Sherrinford, an interesting trend in my mind. “I’m sorry?”

“I tend to play the violin when I can’t think properly, would that bother you?”

“Well, that would depend on how it’s played.”

“I only play well.”

“Then I have no problems.”

“I tend to have scientific items spread around, and perform experiments often, as you no doubt just witnessed. Any objections?”

“Warn me in advance next time you have explosions.”

“I’ve been known to get in certain moods on occasions, if you see me apparently sulking will you do your best not to bother me?”

“If that’s what you wish, then so be it.”

After this rapid fire inquiry, Sherrinford smiled and shook my still outstretched hand. “I think we’ll get along just fine then. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” And with that, she broke off the shake and turned towards the door, still slightly disoriented, but more together than before. “I’m off to meet with Inspector Abberton. Don’t expect my return until late!” she said, directed at the both of us.

“Wait,” I replied, “Don’t you want to know about the vices I might harbor that could be distasteful to you?”

As she put on a long black trench coat she responded, “As long as you’re fine with me and don’t interfere with any potential experiments I may be conducting around the flat, we’ll get along swimmingly.” Finished putting on her coat, she put a bowler hat on her head and out she went.

To say the least I was shocked at my new flatmate. She had a childish air about her unlike any other adult I had ever met before. She performed experiments with potentially alarming results in the middle of a city. And that wasn’t even to mention her other eccentricities.

Mrs. Andrews noticed my confusion and simply chuckled and stated, “That’s Sherrinford for you. I think she’s taken a liking to you, she never so muched at smiled at any of the others. Here’s hoping you two get along.” She raised her cup of tea up in a toast motion, and then took a drink. She placed it back down and stood up. “Now, how about I show you your room?”

I grabbed my bag and followed her down the hallway next to the staircase. She pointed at the leftmost room and said “That’ll be your room, just across the hall from the WC. My room is down the hall here, and Sherrinford is downstairs with her lab.” Mrs. Andrews turned back down the hall towards the front, “I’ll be in the parlor if you need me, dearie,” before turning back to me and saying “I hope you enjoy living here.”

I opened my bedroom door and entered. The room was small and cozy, with a window, a bed in the center of the room, and a dresser in one corner. There fortunately appeared to be no rat or cockroach in sight. This was already better than the hotel, and I greatly appreciated the fact that I had someplace now. I lied back on the bed and drifted to sleep, unaware of any of the subsequent events, some completely incredible, to come.

 

* * *

 

As the weeks went on I began to notice more and more peculiarities with Sherrinford. She wasn’t difficult to live with, not by any stretch of the imagination. She mostly kept to herself, either locked up in her laboratory, nose buried in a book, or out. We still did have daily interactions, as one would expect of two people living together, mostly chatting when we were eating breakfast or when she required assistance in one of her experiments. It was during these little chats that I began noticing her other peculiarities.

Firstly, while being both scientifically and historically knowledgeable, on near genius levels even, she had little to no knowledge of modern political or economical knowledge. She could tell you all about a solar system, the make, size, climate of all the planets in it, whether these planets were habitable and if so what kind of life, but yet she couldn’t tell you about the political system of the people, what and where trade systems applied, where war could be potentially begin, and the like.

During one of our morning chats, I asked her about why she chose not to be in the know on matters like these. Her simple reply was “I find it rather unimportant for someone to know of events that they really have no impact on the outcome of. It just becomes a waste of space that could be used to hold more pertinent information, information that won’t change at the drop of a hat, like science.” And there was no more said on that subject.

Secondly, I realized she isn’t too keen on divulging into her past. On one of the first morning chats, apparently anticipating that I might bring up the idea of talking about our prior life to our meeting, she stated “I do not care to know about your past and do not wish to divulge in mine, so let’s agree to not ask and we can be square.” Again, no more said on the subject, for the moment at least. We would come to know each other’s eventually, but not at this point. She also refused to be acknowledged by, or even admit to having, any other name but Sherrinford. No surname, no nickname, just Sherrinford. Again, I would eventually learn her real name, but not at this point.

Thirdly, she seemed to have better relations with animals and children than fellow adults. I found the first part of this out when I discovered that she had a pet she did not previously mention: a ferret by the name of Doyle, named after her favorite author. I first met Doyle when I found him next to my head on my bed as I was waking up one morning. Having already had previous bad experience with rodents in the vicinity of my sleeping area, I reacted, as to be expected, alarmed, eliciting a scream. The scream caused Sherrinford to poke her head in to see what all the commotion was about, and upon seeing it was Doyle, began to chuckle.

“I see you’ve met Doyle. Here, let me take him off your hands.” She came around to the side of my bed and picked him up, cradling him in her arms and softly stroking his head with one finger. Addressing the ferret, she cooed, “Mischievous little scamp, that’s what you are.”

Her tone was incredible to me. It was unlike anything I had ever seen from her. She wasn’t unfriendly towards me by any means, but her speech was always somewhat monotonous and her tone cold, save for when she was talking about something she loved, such as a scientific discovery she made, where her eyes would light up as bright as the stars she sometimes would talk about. But now, her voice was soft, full of emotion and care for the little furry sausage shaped creature.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scream, I was just a bit startled is all.”

“No worries! Just give me a holler if he bothers you again.” Sherrinford carried the ferret out of the room, cooing to it all the way out. I had to have her escort Doyle from my sleeping chambers many times after that. After about a week or so of these daily escorts Sherrinford made the comment, “He must really like you if he keeps ending up in here,” chuckling afterwards. I couldn’t help but agree, Doyle did seem to have a certain fondness for me, occasionally turning up in places around me besides by my head during slumber. And I had to admit that I was growing a bit of fondness for the creature too, he was a cute little devil.

I couldn’t help but notice too that Doyle wasn’t only the one growing a bit of fondness for me too. It wasn’t the most perceivable, but it did seem like Sherrinford, in conversation with me, had a bit less of the monotonousness or the coldness she had prior. Perhaps it was the pet leading the emotions of the owner, I’m not really sure.

To discuss the second half of the peculiarity, the “better relations with children” part, I would have to begin to discuss my fourth realization: Sherrinford entertained many a guest, a peculiarly large number of guests. It seemed to be that every other day there was some sort of guest in the parlor at some point in the day. These guests seemed to vary in gender, class, wealth, age, basically anyone and everyone could and was a guest. I never really listened in too closely on their conversations, I’m not one to eavesdrop, but I did notice that when the guest was, say, a child or an early teenager, Sherrinford would always speak to them on their level, and often the child would leave happier than some of Sherrinford’s adult guests would, which tended to be somberly or irritated.

Eventually my curiosity got the better of me, and I brought up the whole topic of the guests one day while I was helping her out with one of her experiments, I don’t really remember what the experiment concerned. I fully expected an answer that would amount to her not really talking about it, but I still considered that a better answer than none.

“Sherrinford,” I asked, “I couldn’t help but notice the amount of guests I’ve seen in the parlor over the past few days.”

“Oh, my clients, yeah, I’ve been pretty popular recently.”

Clients? That was a word that I wasn’t expecting to be used in this situation. My mind raced trying to think of what she could mean by that. Sherrinford could sense my confusion and provided an explanation.

“I’m what I like to call a consulting detective. People come to me with issues that they have, and I solve them. Similar to what you did on Cacus in principle.”

The last part threw me for a loop. I had never told her I served in Cacus, let alone what I did for a living. We had this whole agreement about no discussing our past yet it seems she had already knew.

“How do you know about Cacus?” I asked. “Mrs. Andrews?”

Sherrinford simply smirked and shook her head. “Well, not completely, she more gave me the jumping point about the job, I figured out the rest.”

To say the least, I was incredulous. “Really now? Enlighten me.”

The smirk grew on her face as she began. “Simple. Your tan and your accent gave away the Cacus part. The tan told me you had been abroad, there’s no way to get a real tan aboard New London, so the tan has to be extraplanetary in origin. There are only four people that can go abroad easily: vacationers, ambassadors, traders, and servicemen. Since you were looking for housing in a district like this, you don’t have the money to be a vacationer or earn a spot in the government, and traders wouldn’t be here for the length of time you already have, they have to constantly be on the move, so that leaves servicemen. Now, the accent. You’re clearly a Londoner from your accent, but the inflections and pronunciations of certain sounds, like the ‘a’ in Cacus as an ‘ow’ rather than an ‘ah’, are of Blorfish origin. Therefore, you had to serve on a planet that brought you into constant contact with the Blorfs, and with enough sun to give you a tan like that. Only two planets could fit the bill, Cacus and Jescone, but since Jescone is currently in its rainy season for the past few years, you couldn’t have gotten a tan there. Ergo, Cacus.”

My jaw could have been on the floor at this point. She was absolutely correct. As difficult as it is to portray in text, she was right about my accent. But she wasn’t done yet.

“As for your position on Cacus, I have Mrs. Andrews to thank as a starting point. She mentioned she found out about you from Mr. Costigan, her chartered accountant. I knew from past research [3] that Mr. Costigan is a serviceman too. I also remembered from other conversations with Mrs. Andrews that Mr. Costigan would often mention about a man that helped him with his ‘shell shock’ as he called it, and that he would want to repay his kindness someday. Naturally, I put two and two together to realize that you were this person, and this was your kindness being repaid. But I couldn’t figure out what you were doing there though. You had to have served with him, but you couldn’t have been a fighter. When we shook hands your grip told me that enough. You shook with your non-injured arm, your left arm, with a weak grip. Now, this could just be because you were forced to use you non-dominant hand, but the fact that everything in your room is arranged to the left showed that you favored that arm more to begin with, it takes years to change the positioning of something out of habit so you wouldn’t have to use your injured arm. So, I was mystified by this situation. I ended up looking up your enlistment records, I have connections, and I found out you were enlisted in the medical bay, but refused to touch any injured persons in surgery. Yet you weren’t court martialed for insubordination, you were given a new position, something that many men there needed, a therapist. An unprecedented position, but from your time here I’ve gathered you to be an unprecedented fellow.”

I was absolutely speechless. My silence only confirmed the fact that she was right, and she looked very pleased with herself. “And that’s why I’m so popular.”

I finally managed to say something, amounting to “That was amazing.”

“Thank you! So, that’s what I do. I help people with their inquiries with a scientific deductive approach that not many of my fellow investigators have, or so I’m told.”

At this point I could hear a beeping coming from one of the drawers in Sherrinford’s lab desk. She opened the drawer and pulled out a sort of beeper like device. She took a look at the device for a second before putting it back in the drawer and getting up from her seat. 

“And that would be the second part of my consulting detective job, I also consult for Scotland Yard. That was Inspector Abberton, requesting I come and check out the crime scene. Works out too, I think we were just about done for now with the experiment anyways, have to wait for those cultures to grow. Thanks for the help again!”

With that she bounded up the stairs. I heard the front door open, but not close again. I started to gather up my things when Sherrinford came back down the stairs. She turned to me and asked “Do you want to come with me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you want to come to the crime scene with me?”

“No, thank you. Probably wouldn’t be much help anyways.”

Sherrinford put her arm on my good shoulder. “Look, you’re stagnating here. I can see it in the way you sit, you’re always restless. It’s not that you want to go back to war, risk getting injured worse, but you want some kind of action. You’re growing bored here. I’ve noticed you reading the same Poirot book on several occasions, with the most recent time having your reading progress being 50 pages behind where you were the first time. Don’t you think it’s time for a change of pace? It could be fun!”

Sherrinford, as usual, was right. I was growing a bit restless in these walls. Sure I would walk around occasionally, and had thought about getting a job, though my army pension covered my living needs more than adequately, but other than that my days consisted of nothing. Maybe this change of pace was what I needed.

“Alright, sure.”

“Ha! Excellent. I’ll go get us a cab, you go grab your coat.”

With seemingly a bit more excitement than she had before, she rebound up the stairs to presumably hail a cab. I made my way up the stairs and grabbed my coat from the coat rack. I could see and hear through the open door Sherrinford standing outside with a whistle, blowing it to grab a cabbie’s attention.

“Mrs. Andrews!” I called out, “Sherrinford and I will be out tonight, don’t worry about dinner for us.”

Mrs. Andrews came out of the parlor with a smile on her face. “Alright dearies, see you later. Take care of each other now, don’t want to lose both my tenants now.”

Before I could make a reply, either witty or sincere, I heard a yell from outside “OI, BELL!” I turned to see Sherrinford calling me over; she had found a cab that answered to shrill whistling. Giving a goodbye to Mrs. Andrews I made my way down the steps and climbed into the cab, Sherrinford on the other side.

“Where to?” inquired the cabbie.

“8146 Sherman Street,” Sherrinford replied. “And make it quick, we have a crime scene to view.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Sherrinford always did claim I had a flair for the dramatic, citing examples like these as such times.  
> [2] I later found out that they had never intended to leave, even when I did return from my tour, the landlord was a close friend of theirs and had full intention of conning me out of my room.  
> [3] Sherrinford later disclosed to me that she investigated most people that Mrs. Andrews would come into due to a good turn Mrs. Andrews did for her when she was younger, the first tidbit about Sherrinford’s past I had heard about to that point.
> 
>  
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> And so the dynamic duo is forged, and we get to see their first case, "The Adventure of the Scarlet Study", coming soon. (Can you tell that I was heavily inspired by Sherlock Holmes canon yet, heh)
> 
> The Adventure of the Scarlet Study is going to be broken into several parts, perhaps the case after that, which I'm not going to reveal the name of yet, will be in one long part, so after both let me know which format you guys like better, so I can publish subsequent cases accordingly.
> 
> Critique is a valuable commodity, so it will be cherished.


End file.
